


Cuddles

by Buckie



Series: Prompts and Drabbles [13]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 15:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17025384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckie/pseuds/Buckie
Summary: prompt moved from my tumblr - cute otasune cuddles





	Cuddles

It’s still dark outside, the only light coming through their curtainless window is from the lights outside. Bars and twenty four hour shops with neon signs draping the snoring figure next to him in fluorescent greens and reds. It’s raining, he can smell it wafting in through the gap in their window, but it’s still warm.

To his amusement, Otacon realises that they’d kicked their moth-eaten blanket off at some point in the night. Or, perhaps, it had happened during the time just before they went to sleep. He vaguely remembers – now that some of the sleepy fog had removed itself from his brain – throwing it emphatically off of the bed because it kept getting tangled up in Snake’s legs at inopportune moments.

He snorts at the memory, would push his glasses up his face if he were wearing them, but settles his twitching fingers by playing with a strand of Snake’s hair instead.

“Go back to sleep, Hal” says the lump, stretching an arm out and patting the bed, searching for Otacon. Because clearly that was easier than just opening his eyes to see that he was right there lying next to him.

Otacon shuffles towards him slightly, close enough to still be just out of reach of where Snake was patting. Which, of course, Snake feels, and adjusts himself so that his arm finally drapes across Otacon’s waist.

Otacon shuffles closer still, flings his own arm around Snake’s waist a bit too excitedly, earning him a soft “Ow” from Snake.

“Sorry,” he whispers. But Snake just chuckles, scoops him with one arm so that he’s flush against his chest. Both of them, on their sides, chests together, legs tangling. Snake’s arms come to encompass him in a tight embrace. And it’s a little uncomfortable because one of Snake’s arms is trapped between Otacon’s head and the mattress, and one of his legs he swears is on the wrong way around. But it works. And neither of them would have it any other way.

“It’s hot,” Otacon says.

“It’s hot,” Snake parrots in agreement.

But neither of them make any move as if to get away from the heat of the other. In fact, Snake’s embrace becomes tighter, and he begins sleepily kissing every part of Otacon that he can reach. Which, at this point, is just his head. That is, until Otacon wiggles and adjusts so that their lips can finally meet.

There’s no sense of urgency. No feeling of desperation. Just love. Happiness. Contentment.

These are Otacon’s favourite moments. The sex is great, sure. But the afterglow, the sleepy mornings, the embraces they share when they’re alone or amongst friends. That’s what Otacon truly loves. How they fit imperfectly together, like mismatched puzzle pieces finding their own ways to join together. Arms tight, fingers roaming and stroking. Kissing is an added bonus but isn’t necessarily essential.

Just this.

Just lying side by side in each other’s arms.

Just them and the rain and the lights and the early morning birdsong.

Them.

Together.

The kissing has slowed to a near stop, the two of them once more on the precipice, teetering together on the edge of sleep. And it’s messy and it’s shoddy and it’s entirely one hundred percent everything wither of them ever wanted from the other.

They drift together, clinging to each other. Through sleep. Through life.

And neither of them cares about the alarm set for forty minutes time because at least it means that they get to wake up in each other’s arms.


End file.
